Ceremonials
by Bookjunk
Summary: Something happens the night before Layla's wedding. Layla/Warren.
1. Only if for a night

**Ceremonials**

**Chapter 1: Only if for a night**

'Will, it's...' Layla paused, glancing at the clock, '...not really that late. Has Warren's bachelor party ended already?'

Clenching the phone between her shoulder and ear, she placed the last plate in the dishwasher and tapped it shut with her hip.

'No. Can I come over?'

'Sure,' she answered, ending the call. The doorbell rang immediately. Puzzled, Layla moved the curtain and looked outside. Will was standing on the doorstep holding a huge bottle of something. She smiled. When she opened the door to let him in, her smile faded. Will smelled as if he'd taken a dip in a pool of cheap beer.

'It's your last night as a free woman. Let's celebrate,' he shouted, holding the bottle up so that she could read the label. Layla had no idea why he was doing that. It was not designer champagne; not that either of them cared about that. She suspected – judging by the size of the bottle – that it was one of those champagne brands people use at sporting matches to squirt foam all over the winner. That was oddly sexual, now that she thought about it.

'Come in,' she urged, standing aside. She offered him her arm, but Will rejected it. His brusqueness was completely out of character, but Layla attributed it to the alcohol. When he then proceeded to almost trip over the carpet, she blamed that on the alcohol too. Will regained his balance just in time.

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' he mumbled. He stood in the hallway for a couple of seconds. Completely still with a confused expression on his face. He's forgotten where he is, Layla thought. It was maybe too generous a guess. The look in Will's eyes seemed to indicate that he'd forgotten _who_ he was. It would have been funny if she hadn't needed him to be able to perform his best man duties tomorrow.

'Warren is not going to be happy when you show up to the wedding hung over,' she remarked. It was meant as a slight rebuke; a way of getting Will to accept her arm. She would have to escort him to the kitchen. It was clear that he was not going to make it on his own.

'Why am I Warren's best man? I like the guy well enough, but he's not my friend. You're my friend,' Will protested. His speech was fairly coherent for someone swaying on his feet. He sounded indignant. On the verge of anger. It was a little late to change things now, so Layla opted to ignore most of his comment.

'Why didn't you say something? You could have come to my party,' she suggested. As if that would have solved anything. Sure, it would have solved the problem of Will's drunkenness right now, since Layla's party had taken place a couple of weeks ago.

'And sit there surrounded by women?' he whined. Layla nodded, feigning sympathy and slipping an arm around his shoulder. She gently tried to steer him towards the kitchen – a place with tiles and lots of water: it was perfect for drunks! – but Will had other plans. He made a beeline for the couch. Sighing, Layla followed.

Will plonked down on the couch. He hoisted the booze onto the pillow to his left. Layla sat down besides the massive champagne bottle. Suddenly, Will looked sort of defeated. His rapidly changing emotions were exhausting to witness. It's like the five stages of grief, except in Will's case it's the five stages of plastered, Layla realised.

They sat on the couch for a while without talking. Layla wasn't sure where Will's head was at now. His hair was obscuring his face and his breathing was shallow. He could be asleep for all she knew.

'You know what's weird? I always thought I'd marry you,' she confessed, quietly. She'd had it all figured out down to the seating arrangements.

'I always thought you'd marry me too,' Will whispered. He looked so sad.

'Aw, Will. You'll find someone,' Layla reassured him. Will continued to look sad. It was heartbreaking. Another thing it was: ridiculous. Will dated _a lot_. The sheer number of women he dated meant that he was bound to eventually meet someone he liked. That was just basic math.

Still, Layla couldn't bear to see her best friend like that. She hauled the bottle out of the way and put it on the floor. Next, she took Will's face into her hands and kissed him. It was meant to be a friendly peck – and a clumsy one at that – but nothing that night went as it was supposed to go, so it wasn't a peck. That wasn't Layla's fault, though. It was Will kissing her back that turned it from a peck into a kiss.

She didn't stop him at first, because she was surprised at how deeply and passionately he kissed her. Also, she thought that he'd stop soon enough. After all, he was only kissing her because he was drunk. Layla didn't want him to feel worse than he already did. She didn't want to make this any more awkward than it already was. But Will didn't stop. He just kept on kissing her.


	2. Shake it out

_Author's note: Story title and song titles from the album by Florence + The Machine. Big thanks to Ramona and other guest for reviewing._

**Ceremonials**

**Chapter 2: Shake it out **

The next day.

The wedding was like any other wedding. That was a guess. Layla hadn't attended another wedding. Ever. Her family was small and kind of hippie-ish, which basically meant that most of them thought that marriage was an old fashioned institution best avoided. For a while, she had held out hope that Magenta and Zach might get married, but Magenta had quickly squashed that dream. Apparently, marriage wasn't Magenta's cup of tea either.

Layla had so wanted to be in a wedding. Best (wo)man, bridesmaid, flower girl; she didn't care. She just wanted to be part of a wedding, dammit! Well, here she was: the bride. If weddings were plays, everyone would want the role of the bride. That was arguably the best part. No, no, no, not true. The best part was that she was marrying Warren. The best part was that this fantastic man had gone down on one knee with a ring in his hand and had asked her to marry him. The best part was that he hadn't been crying, but he had definitely been emotional. Yep, Warren was without a doubt the best part.

The wedding itself took forever. A good forever, though. It didn't drag. No one got embarrassingly drunk afterwards and made an awkward speech. Will seemed completely recovered from the night before. Everyone was having fun. Everything was perfect.

Okay, that was a lie. Things were tense between Will and Warren. The tension was close to palpable and Layla couldn't understand why. She hoped that Will hadn't told Warren that he didn't feel like the two of them were friends. 'Cause this was hardly the time or the place. Unfortunately, Will was honest to a fault. He really might have said that he didn't want to be Warren's best man. It was infuriating. If that's how he felt then why hadn't he said something earlier? Arranging the wedding had taken over a year. Surely, he could have found the time to mention it before?

The night was nearly over. Layla was beginning to get tired and her feet were starting to hurt. She was just resting them when Will asked her to dance. She accepted; thinking that this would be an opportunity to ask him about what was going on. As soon as the band would start playing again, the combination of the music and eighty guests conversing would afford them enough privacy.

'And a one and a one, two, three, four,' the drummer said and the band was off. Layla immediately recognised the song. It was one of her favourites: Night Like This by LP.

_Stars are falling_

_Are we falling too?_

_Dawn is coming_

_What's this coming to?_

Whenever she was singing along at home Layla always sang _are we coming too?_ instead of _what's this coming to?_ Maybe it was the way the lyrics were structured. Maybe she was a pervert. Anyway, it was a beautiful song. Layla and Will walked to the dance floor and started to dance. Layla led. Will could follow, but he was rubbish at leading. Kind of the opposite of how he was as a superhero.

'I feel guilty,' Will whispered into her ear. Layla frowned.

'About what?' she whispered back. Will grabbed her by the shoulders and held her away from him. He stared at her as if he couldn't believe what she'd said. Layla suddenly realised what he meant. Relieved, she let out a quiet breath.

'About last night? Don't,' she urged.

'I assume you haven't told Warren?'

Layla nearly laughed. Why would she do that? It had just been a stupid mistake. There was no need to tell Warren. It would only upset him, which was the last thing Layla wanted to do.

'I know that I probably should, but no,' she answered. Will nodded. Layla studied him. There was this grave look of concern on his face that was completely out of place. That was so like Will. So he got drunk and kissed her. Who cared? Only Will could obsess about something like that.

'Can I cut in?' Warren asked.

Layla got the feeling that it was meant to sound apologetic, but it sounded more like a challenge. As if he was prepared to duel for the honour of dancing with her. Preposterous. This wasn't Victorian times or whenever people did that. This also wasn't high school, yet they were acting like teenagers. Her anger at both of them vanished when Warren took her hand.

He slid one arm around her waist. She draped both her arms over his shoulders. It was beyond nice to have him holding her. What was even nicer was how his fingers caressed her back through the fabric of her dress. His touches were so light that they almost weren't there. It drove her crazy. Is this what married life was like? Probably not. It probably involved more mundane things, like filing taxes together and spending holidays in your own home instead of at your parents' house.

'Layla?'

'Hmm?' she murmured.

'You're the first person I ever liked,' he said. Layla gazed up at him with a huge smile on her face. He averted his eyes and continued.

'Don't laugh. It's true. I love my mother and my father, though I hate him too, but I don't especially like them. They're family. And that was it. That was the sum total of people I cared about. Everyone else I just tolerated. But you... you I liked.'

It was sweet and slightly disturbing all at once. In that respect, it was a bit like Warren. How to respond? Layla couldn't think of any words.

'You don't have to say anything,' Warren added. 'Just know that I love you.'

'I know that,' Layla whispered. Sometimes she thought that Warren could easily be a stranger. She knew far less about him than about other people in her life. Nonetheless, she knew the important stuff. She knew that he loved her.

The song ended. The band announced that the next dance would be the last dance of the night and began to play Don't Move by Phantogram. It wasn't a song you could slow dance to. It was a song that called for wild, uncoordinated movements and probably making a fool of yourself. It was just the song for Layla.


	3. What the water gave me

_Author's note: Big thanks to Caddie and Shiobani/Siobhani/Siobhan for reviewing._

**Ceremonials**

**Chapter 3: What the water gave me**

The weather was lovely. As a result, the garden looked beautiful. It didn't need sun or soil or water when it had Layla, but, like most things, the garden simply looked better in the sunlight. The vines trailing up the side of the house. The mass of flowers in their loose borders. The great oak in the middle of the garden. Everything was luscious and green and alive.

Layla sat in the tall grass and didn't worry about the dew getting her dress wet. It was an ugly dress anyway. A few grass stains could only improve it. She leaned back, fanning out her hair with her hands so she wouldn't lie down on it and closed her eyes. Insects buzzed all around her. It was a nice, productive sound. The sound of the future. A door slammed in the house. Layla ignored it. Warren had been in a bad mood for the past week. Ever since the wedding, in fact.

He got like that sometimes. All she could do then was back off and wait for it to pass. Warren got through his feelings on his own with no help from her. It was not the way Layla would've liked it, but it was what it was. There was no changing Warren. He was there for her if she needed someone to talk to or to hold her. That was her process, so she let him have his.

A warm drop of water fell on her cheek. Layla opened her eyes. The sky was a lot less blue than before. Maybe a storm was on its way. Layla smiled. She enjoyed storms. The violence and the beauty of them. There was something awesome about witnessing the forces of nature.

Another door slammed just as a steady drizzle started to fall. This time, Layla rolled onto her stomach and peered at the windows. She couldn't detect Warren anywhere. She touched the grass with her hands. Its long stalks slid through her fingers, almost cutting the flesh. It was a weird sensation. Unlike anything else.

Layla got to her feet and walked to the edge of a flower border. The dress stuck to her legs. She sank onto her knees. The sand was already becoming muddy. There was something fun about that. About getting dirty and not worrying about the state of your clothes.

She dug her hands into the black earth and relished the scrub of the slippery grains against her skin. It was good that no one could see into their garden, because the neighbours would probably think that she was crazy.

'Layla?' Warren called out from somewhere inside the house.

'I'm in the garden,' she shouted. She held out her hands, so that the rain could wash the dirt away. It was no longer drizzling now. It was raining. The drops were still warm, but they cooled on her skin quickly. That was the wind's doing.

Warren walked out of the back door. He stopped when he saw her. His dark hair whipped around his face. Layla tipped her head back a little to catch a rain drop in her mouth. When she looked at Warren again, he was striding across the lawn towards her. He was sporting a spectacular black eye. Layla's gaze dropped to his hands. His knuckles were bloody.

'What happened?' she asked. Warren picked her up with the same kind of ease with which the wind would pick up a leaf and carried her over to the big oak. Underneath its roof of branches, they were sheltered from the wind and rain. Yet, Warren didn't put her down. He took a step and then another until her back came to rest against the coarse bark of the tree. Their bodies were flush against each other. His forehead trembled against hers.

'That's okay. You don't have to tell me. Are you alright?' Layla whispered. Warren shook his head and kissed her. His lips were cold. His tongue was hot. Layla shivered when he moved his right hand up her bare leg, pushing up the fabric of her dress.

'I'll be gentle,' he promised. It was an odd thing to say. He was always gentle. Why would this time be different? He pinned her more securely against the tree. Layla wrapped her legs around his waist. They kissed feverishly while around them the summer storm was building.

His heart beat against her ribcage. She could feel the anger course through his veins the way she could feel the life flow through the flora around her. This was maybe the closest Warren would ever get to sharing his feelings with her.

Warren's fire kept Layla warm as the storm gained momentum. The wind began to whirl around the oak. Water dripped down from its branches and trickled down the trunk. It grew darker. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

'We should go inside,' Warren mumbled.

'We should, but let's not. Let's stay right here.'

'Okay,' he said, chuckling hoarsely. He pressed a kiss to her lips. His hair brushed against her face. His hands bunched up her dress to just above her hips. She watched him as he peeled away the layers that kept them apart.

Then he was inside of her. Layla clung to him and he clung to her. He kissed her slowly, softly, lingering on the simple pleasure of their mouths together, touching, before deepening the kiss. Somehow it was more intimate than it had ever been. It was strange to think that all the times that they'd had sex before, he had been holding back. But still, still, still he moved with a tenderness that overwhelmed Layla. As if words weren't enough and he needed to prove to her how much she meant to him. As if only this stunning intensity would do his love for her justice. As if... as if he wanted to put everything he couldn't say into this one moment.


	4. Never let me go

_Author's note: An enormous thanks to sasume – uchiha, ScarletSometimes and four guests for reviewing._

**Chapter 4: Never let me go**

Afterwards, Warren carried her inside through the pouring rain and they made love again. Layla fell asleep in his arms feeling safe and happy.

(***)

Beams of light played across her face when she woke up. They'd forgotten to close the curtains the night before. Layla shaded her eyes with one arm and reached out for Warren with the other one. He wasn't there. She rolled over with the intention of going back to sleep, until she remembered what had happened yesterday. The state Warren had been in. He wasn't going to get away with keeping the story behind that from her. It was too big. Too disturbing.

Layla slipped out of bed, opened the wardrobe and stopped in her tracks. Warren's side of the wardrobe was empty. Something twisted in her stomach.

She pulled open a random drawer which was supposed to contain his socks. It was also empty. What was going on?

Hastily, she put on some clothes while looking around the bedroom. Not everything of his was gone – thank God – but things were noticeably missing. His reading glasses. His phone charger.

'Warren?' she yelled. He wouldn't just leave, right? And _why _would he leave? She hadn't done or said anything. She couldn't think of anything anyway. They had been married for barely a week. That was simply not enough time to screw up a marriage.

'Warren!'

He did that supremely unhelpful 'here' thing that she found annoying, because where exactly was here? His voice seemed to come from downstairs. Layla finally found him in the kitchen. Along with two suitcases.

'Where are you going?' Layla inquired, struggling to remain calm. She racked her brains for an answer. Business trip? Family visit? She wanted so badly for it to be something normal. A perfectly rational explanation for what was happening. Something that wouldn't mean that her life was falling apart.

Warren didn't say anything at first. He just sat at the kitchen table, looking impatient, as if she was keeping him from somewhere. Yeah, what a hassle. Imagine your wife wanting to know why you're packed and ready to go.

'Will told me about what happened. I'd rather have heard it from you,' Warren said. His voice was curiously flat. Completely devoid of emotion.

'I'm sorry. I know I should have told you, but you two were already not getting along. I didn't want to add to that.'

'Will and I are _not getting along_ because he's in love with my wife.'

Layla almost laughed, but thought about the suitcases and decided against it.

'What? That's not true,' she responded.

'Then why did you sleep with him?' Warren replied icily. This time Layla didn't feel the urge to laugh. This was not funny. Did he seriously think that she was capable of doing something like that? How could he think that she'd do that to him?

'I didn't,' she said, matching his tone and meeting his gaze evenly. He brought his fist down on the table with force.

'Stop lying! I saw you kiss him, Layla. I left my own bachelor party early because I missed you and I saw you kiss Will.'

For a moment, Layla didn't know what to say. She couldn't deny that. She _had_ kissed Will. It just hadn't been the kind of kiss Warren pictured. Maybe if she told him why she'd kissed Will… Without thinking, she stepped forward. Warren immediately withdrew. His whole body flinched away from contact with her. Blinking back tears, Layla cleared her throat and attempted to explain.

'I only kissed him because I felt sorry for him.'

'You kissed him because you love him,' Warren corrected her. Layla shook her head. This was so unfair. So stupid. So ridiculous. Nothing had happened. She had no idea why Warren was determined to think that something had. It didn't even make sense. If she loved Will then why would she have married Warren? Angrily, she turned the question around.

'If you really believe that then why did you marry me?'

'Because I love you,' Warren answered. He got up and lifted the suitcases. He paused, as if he was waiting for her to say something, but Layla pressed her lips together.

She could have said a million things to try and make him stay. She could have said 'I love you,' but he knew that. Or he should have known that, at least. She could have scoffed at his weird notion of love, since he had chosen to believe the worst about her. She could have asked 'What happened to never letting me go?' but that was something someone pathetic would have said. Instead, Layla focused on the cold tiles underneath her bare feet. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't come undone.

She could have said a million things to try and make him stay. But would he have believed any of it?


	5. Breaking down

_Author's note: Thanks to ScarletSometimes and two guests for their super welcome reviews._

**Chapter 5: Breaking down**

Okay, letting Warren leave had been stupid. She had been calling him for hours now and he wasn't picking up. With the phone in her hand, Layla considered her next course of action. She needed advice. Normally, Will would be the one she called and she definitely wanted to talk to him to find out what the hell he'd told Warren, but that could wait. Right now she needed to talk to a friend. Layla pushed her tongue up against the roof of her mouth and called Magenta.

'Layla, hi! How's marriage?'

'It's not.'

'What's that…?'

'Warren thinks I slept with Will,' Layla elaborated. There was a brief silence at the other end.

'How did he react?' Magenta inquired. Layla loved her so much for not asking whether Warren was right.

'It was really strange. He just walked out. It was like he wasn't even angry, but he must have been.'

Another thoughtful pause followed.

'I'm gonna put you on speaker, so that Zach can listen too,' Magenta suddenly announced.

'Okay…' Layla agreed. She wasn't sure where Magenta was going with this, but Layla would take all the help she could get.

'Hi Layla,' Zach mumbled. He sounded embarrassed to be dragged into the conversation.

'Hi Zach. This is kind of awkward, huh?'

'Yeah. I'm sorry about, you know, what happened.'

'Not your fault,' Layla replied. 'So, ehm, not that I mind Zach also weighing in, but what's the point, Magenta?'

'Right,' Magenta said. 'When I'm angry, I'm angry. I scream. I throw with stuff. When I'm not angry, but trying to mould my emotions into something manageable it usually comes out as a quiet, scary form of anger. I whisper, I seem very calm. Was it something like that?'

Layla remembered how eerily composed Warren had been right before leaving.

'He pounded the table once, but otherwise... Yes. He seemed calm. Cold,' she told them.

'That's what I thought. Warren's not like you. Or like Will, for that matter. He's more like me. His anger burns. If it didn't, then something's wrong,' Magenta concluded. Well, _of course_, something is wrong, Layla thought. Warren thought she'd cheated on him.

'This is where Zach comes in,' Magenta explained. 'Honey, remember when we had a date, but you forgot and your phone was turned off so I couldn't reach you? Tell Layla what happened afterwards.'

'She didn't talk to me for a week.'

'Was I angry?'

'Furious. But mostly because she was worried sick.'

'See, Layla? People like me express our love – or any emotion, really – through anger. You say that Warren's anger was subdued? I think that underneath it all he wasn't angry; anger just felt more comfortable. But because he wasn't really angry, it came out sort of distorted.'

This glimpse into Magenta and Zach's relationship was beyond odd. It was uncomfortably intimate. Layla put that aside and contemplated whether Magenta's explanation made sense. It did. Except, Layla couldn't figure out what kind of emotion Warren had been trying to cover up with his weird, chilly anger.

'What is it then? What is he feeling?'

Magenta sighed and told Zach that he could go if he wanted to. There was a bit of undefined noise on Magenta's end before she spoke again.

'I don't know. What other emotion could he have been feeling? He thinks that you slept with another guy – a guy whom he's always considered a rival for your affections, a guy he's been jealous of all his life – the night before you married him. Hurt, Layla. He is hurt.'

It always seemed to come back to that even though Will hadn't been a rival for her affections for years. They had been over and done with a long time ago.

'That can't be...' Layla objected.

'Are you kidding? Will has got hero written all over him. Warren's more like your prototype villain. He feels inferior.'

'I don't believe that. But that doesn't matter. I want to know where to go from here. What should I do?' Layla asked.

'This isn't what you want to hear, but I think that you should wait. When I feel the way that Warren is probably feeling, I close down because I need time to process what has happened. I want to be left alone. If you push too much right now, he might turn away from you completely,' Magenta warned, adding, 'I'm just guessing here, you understand that, right?'

'Yes. Thank you. Bye.'

'Wait! What are you going to do?'

'I don't know.'

'Good luck. Bye.'

Layla barely had time to put the phone down before the doorbell rang. She walked to the door and peered through the peephole. It was Will. His face was a mess. Layla stepped back and considered her options. She was going to have to talk to him eventually. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. He attempted to step inside, but she didn't let him in. Pointedly, she left him standing on the porch.

'I'm sorry. I had to tell Warren,' Will immediately said.

'Why did you tell him we slept together? We didn't.'

Will blinked. He stared at her.

'Come on,' he protested, laughing awkwardly.

'No, you come on! You were drunk. I wasn't. Whatever you think happened, it didn't happen. We didn't sleep together,' Layla summarized.

'We kissed, though,' Will insisted.

'You kissed me and I let you for longer than I probably should have, but you know it didn't mean anything, right?'

Will looked absolutely crushed for a second. Layla, unable to look into his eyes, studied his nose. A little bandage appeared to hold it together. The skin surrounding the bandage was black and blue. Then Will's eyebrows knit together in an angry frown.

'It meant something to me. I love you,' he declared, defiantly.

'Don't be ridiculous,' Layla scoffed. 'Since when?'

'I never stopped.'

Reeling from this news – despite Warren and Magenta and everyone telling her over and over again that this was the case – Layla recoiled.

'But… we fizzled out,' she hesitantly replied. Will shook his head.

'Not on my end. I gave you everything I had for years. Got hurt multiple times. And _he _gets you? What's so special about him? I was there, the whole time, through everything. I love you more than anything. I try so hard, but still I am never good enough.'

'Warren didn't get me. No one got me, because I'm not a possession. I chose Warren. And why didn't you just tell me how you felt?' Layla snapped.

'Because you assumed that our break up was mutual. You sound mad. Are you mad?' Will asked, confused.

'Yes, I'm mad. All this time I thought that you were my friend, but apparently you had a hidden agenda.'

'Once upon a time you were also just my friend, but hoping for more,' he pointed out.

'Hoping, yes,' Layla admitted. 'I didn't _expect_ anything. I didn't think that I'd_ earned_ the right to be with you. I didn't think that I _deserved_ to have you simply because I was a good friend. That's bullshit. I'm not some sort of trophy for being a nice guy, Will. If you really believe that then you're not my friend.'

Layla closed the door in his face and went upstairs. In the bedroom, she slid Warren's sock drawer shut. She sat on the bed and started to cry. How could this have happened? How could this be her life? How could it be that, in the space of a few hours, she had lost the two people who were most important to her?


End file.
